


tell me

by blazeofglory



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, College, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Friendship, M/M, Pre-slash if you squint but can definitely be read as gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they get drunk together, they play 20 questions. It’s Foggy’s idea, because of course it is, but Matt goes along with it easily enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me

**Author's Note:**

> My 60th fic is yet another silly Daredevil piece! I can't really say I'm surprised at myself. If you've read any of my other college-era Matt&Foggy fics, this is probably in the same universe, but none of them are related. The only real connecting factor is the setting and Foggy's love for the color pink.

The first time they get drunk together, they play 20 questions. It’s Foggy’s idea, because of course it is, but Matt goes along with it easily enough. They’re laying in their beds on opposite sides of the room, the floor between them strewn with empty bottles of beer that Foggy will trip over in the morning, and it’s _comfortable_. Matt can’t really remember the last time he’d felt comfortable around a virtual stranger.

“What’s your favorite number?” Foggy asks first, and Matt has to laugh. He doesn’t know Foggy, not yet, not really, but he feels like that’s pretty characteristic of him—that’s the kind of shit Foggy Nelson wonders about--innocent, cute little curiosities.

“28,” Matt answers, grinning up at the ceiling. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Pink,” Foggy says promptly, and Matt can hear him shifting on his bed, turning on his side. He has a feeling Foggy is looking at him, and he finds himself not really minding. “What was your first kiss like?”

“Oh, awful. We were both 13 and she knocked my glasses off my face.” For a long time, that story had embarrassed him, but in retrospect and good company, it’s pretty funny. Matt’s beginning to figure out just how much he wants this—wants a friend; wants _Foggy_ to be his friend. He turns to face Foggy too, just so Foggy can see the smile on his face. “How was your first date?”

Foggy laughs, loud and carefree, and Matt laughs too without even knowing what’s funny. Maybe in the morning, he’ll blame his inhibitions on the alcohol, but for the time being, he’s just content to let himself _feel_ and not think too much about it. When Foggy finally answers, he’s still laughing. “It was—oh, man, it was way worse than bumped glasses. My parents took it upon themselves to chaperone, but didn’t bother telling me. They followed us from dinner to the movies and poor Stacy thought we were being stalked!”

It takes a long time for the two of them to stop laughing, and Matt has to brush away the tears in the corners of his eyes. When was the last time he laughed so hard he cried? ( _Never_ , his brain helpfully supplies).

“It’s your turn to ask a question,” Matt points out, still holding back the last remnants of laughter.

“Hmm.” Foggy sighs dramatically, shifting around in bed again. “God, I don’t know, I might be too drunk for this. Wait! What’s your… favorite smell?”

Matt takes a second to think about that one. “I don’t think I have one.”

“Come on, you have to,” Foggy insists, so Matt thinks a little harder. There are nice smells and really awful smells, but does he have a _favorite_? Strawberries smell nice, but sometimes they're covered in pesticides. Clean laundry is good before he gets close enough to smell the chemicals.

He has distant memories of homemade spaghetti sauce, but he dismisses that thought as soon as he has it. Maybe Foggy is right—they _are_ too drunk for this. But Matt takes a deep breath, and under the strong scent of alcohol and the bag of Doritos on his desk and the half-eaten pizza on Foggy’s, he smells it.

“ _You_ smell nice,” Matt finally says, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Like—like a Yankee candle, but _better_.” 

It takes another half hour before either of them stops laughing again.

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't exactly prompted on the kink meme, but I was inspired by a comment about Matt saying Foggy smells like a Yankee candle.


End file.
